


Profound Bond(age)

by MeriKG



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriKG/pseuds/MeriKG
Summary: Pure Destiel smut.  No plot, none whatsoever.  Just two lovely gentlemen showing each other the ropes.  PWP.Takes place circa season 8, after Castiel became human, but before Dean had to ask him to leave the Bunker to protect Sam.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Profound Bond(age)

**Author's Note:**

> In a recent Supe convention, someone asked Misha Collins about Castiel and Dean's current rift. Being Misha, he asked if they were asking about the profound bondage between the characters. Basically, this was ineffable.

Castiel, Angel of Thursday, and one of Heaven’s finest warriors (redacted), was no stranger to imprisonment. Or torture. He’d been savaged with angel blades, beaten bloody, lied to, spelled into raging insanity, hell, he’d even had pieces of his very essence sliced out through his eyeball with an angelic laser. Yes, he knew a thing or two about torture.

He also knew about confinement. He knew the diameter of Heaven’s prison to the centimeter. He’d been trapped in most everything that can hold an angel, from chains to flaming circles of holy oil. His own friends had chained him to the floor with magic handcuffs. Which, admittedly, had been for his own protection, but that didn’t make the experience any less miserable. 

Which led him to his current predicament. He’d feared that being human would make the experience so much worse. Emotion, sensation, it made everything different, more intense. Castiel gritted his teeth, wondering how humans survived this level of suffering at all, much less his adopted family who’d been tortured so many times they could write a book. Maybe they should, the Winchester Guide to Torture Moste Foul. He probably shouldn’t mention the idea to Dean; the hunter still seemed to harbor a fair amount of guilt about that chapter in his own history. 

Castiel groaned as a new burst of agony wracked his body, desperately fighting to free his limbs, though he’d long ago determined that escape was impossible. He’d been very effectively bound by a true master of the craft. He wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

Cas lay on his back, eagle spread, his arms stretched so tautly his shoulders ached from the tension. Ropes wound tight at each wrist, knots perfectly worked so that he had no chance of sliding free. A similar rope wrapped around his abdomen multiple times, the effect nearly artful in its perfection. It too, was impossibly tight. Were it any higher on his torso he wouldn’t be able to inflate his lungs. Which his captor certainly didn’t want; if Cas couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t scream. He had the distinct impression that his screams and pleas were a source of pleasure for his captor.

His ankles were wrapped with the same elaborate knots as his wrists, pulled so tight his legs were spread achingly wide; were the bedposts horses, he’d be ripped to pieces in short order. Just to ensure he stayed firmly in place, a final set of ropes twined around each thigh. Between the lengths of rope at abdomen and thigh, his hips were very effectively trapped on the flat surface he was splayed across. 

His naked flesh was pebbled with goose bumps, cold and hot at the same time though the pitch-black chamber he was ensnared in was quite reasonably thermo-regulated. He did his best to choke back a sob as another flash of sensation wracked him; it was best not to make noises; it only seemed to encourage his torturer to greater heights. As it was, he felt he was very close to breaking. 

But he would not; he was a former angel, damnit. Nearly a god, at least once, maybe twice. He would never submit, never give in, no matter how he was made to suffer.

Everything hurt, his arms and legs, stretched so impossibly tight he swore he felt his tendons creaking, the heat of rope burns at his thighs and abdomen from his feeble attempts to thrash, to fight his way out. Bruises freckled his neck and thighs, so many he’d lost count, each tiny, sensitive spot adding its miniscule weight to the totality of his agony. His muscles ached from straining against the ropes, fighting to gain even trace momentum. All for naught; he was well and truly bound.

A hint of light, and the heavy black fabric obstructing his vision was lifted a crack. Devilish green eyes peered down at him, a beatific smile more evil to Cas than that of any demon he’d even smote. 

“Had enough, yet?” His tormenter asked, voice gravelly, rough with exertion. He had to be close to exhaustion soon, didn’t he? The beautiful face was flushed, sweat plastering his hair to his scalp, sliding down the side of his temple in glistening droplets. Sweat shouldn’t be that attractive; it just shouldn’t. 

Castiel opened his mouth to sob his surrender, to agree to anything, everything. To admit he had broken. It would go so much better for him if he would just submit. But that wasn’t in his nature. 

He took a deep, cleansing breath. “Never,” he grunted out, though it came out more a pathetic whimper rather than the declaration of resistance he’d been aiming for.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, his grin reminiscent of his Deanmon days. It was a fair parallel; he’d been a sadistic monster then, too.

Dean shifted atop him, causing Castiel’s cock to throb anew, the sensation a continuous agony buried as it was in the deep, tight perfection of his lover’s ass. The sensation was enough to make him come, more that enough. But, among the numerous ropes that Dean had strung around him in a slow teasing dance of hickies and kisses, was some form of torture device that wrapped around Cas testicles, preventing him from achieving orgasm. For such a simple device it had proved devastatingly effective.

Not to say that his lover was burdened with a similar condition. Cas’ chest was sticky, dry and itching with evidence that Dean had enjoyed multiple orgasms while riding Castiel into oblivion. When he’d needed a break, he crawled up Cas’ bound body, sliding his thick erection down Cas throat. 

Something he and Dean had discovered in their years doing…whatever this was. Castiel had a thing for blowjobs. Giving, receiving, it didn’t seem to matter. Cas was as likely to come on his knees with a cock stuffed down his throat as he was if he were thrusting his own deep into Dean’s willing and dangerously talented mouth. 

That was yet another indulgence Dean had enjoyed in the hours they’d been at play. He’d sucked, licked and teased Cas cock into red, aching, rock hard agony, only to release it and ply his mouth elsewhere. Inner thigh, balls, neck. He’d been anywhere and everywhere that a sly tongue and stinging teeth could instigate a burst of pleasure. Cas had many, many such places accessible to his lover, even bound on his back as he was. And Dean knew each and every one. The bastard. 

It was only once Dean had reduced Cas to the point of sobbing (the first time of many) that he’d finally sank slowly onto the x-angel’s cock, taking his time, stretching himself slowly over Cas’ length rather than prepping himself with fingers or one of the several toys available to him.

And it was only then that Dean had truly started on him in ernest. 

A hand gripped Cas’ achingly painful, abused balls, stroking rhythmically. Cas screamed hoarsely, the tender, too gentle contact a special torture all its own. It was more than he could bear. His scream lacked the volume he’d started with; he’d gone slowly hoarse over time. 

“Wow. That sounds painful,” Dean commented idly. “You know, all these knots are quick release. One tug and I could free your thighs. You could pump into me all you want, hard as you like.” His tone was deep, cajoling. Teasing. He wriggled slightly atop Cas to emphasize his point. 

“You know you want to. Maybe you even come with that cock ring on if you could only manage,” Dean pause, nibbling delicately at Cas throat, before leaning to his ear. “To thrust,” he finished, embellishing the word with a nip.

Castiel wanted to give in. More than anything in his life he wanted to submit, cry uncle, and end his torment. But then he’d lose. And winning was everything at this point. Because if he gave in he’d lose the bet. Lose the right to reverse their positions and rope Dean’s sexy, sadistic ass to the fucking mattress to do with as he pleased. And Cas had time to come up with all kinds of ideas over the last few hours. 

“No?” Dean asked, voice dangerously cheerful. “Oh, well. Moving on to round…what, four? Or is it five?” He slid the blindfold back down over Cas eyes, casting him back into infernal darkness.

Cas felt the bed shift and Dean moved around, occasionaly stretching across Cas’ naked body with his own as he did...whatever the hell he was doing. Was he whistling? Asshole.

A faint sound, so soft Cas would never have heard it had he not been so long blindfolded. It was the familiar pop of a cap. Dean couldn’t possibly need more lube. Cas’ cock was sticky with it; the heating lube so thickly applied it felt like it was dripping down his erection. Maybe it was. 

“Time to move up to my A game, I guess,” Dean commented absently. implying that all this had merely been his B game? What else could he possibly…

A faint buzzing filled the quiet room. No. No no no… Cas thrashed around in his bindings, oblivious to the new rope burns, frantically trying to get loose, to avoid the inevitably of that terrible sound.

The long forgotten vibrator that had first teased his cock into hardness, his balls to clench in foolhardy anticipation, had been long forgotten, Dean’s hot mouth and talented tongue distracting him. But apparently the toy had not been entirely abandoned.

Slowly, teasingly, Dean angled the device until he was able to slide it into Cas’ ass, even bound flat as he was. It was a small toy, slim. It fit easily, only a little snug in his unprepared hole. The vibrations were a new kind of agony, the toy short enough that it cheerfully buzzed just below his prostate. Another fucking tease.

“There we go,” Dean said in satisfaction, patting Cas’ thigh. “Safe and sound. Now, where were we?”

Cas felt Dean crawl up his body, yelping when teeth nipped at his inner thigh, light suction as yet another hickey marked his body. Dean continued to crawl until his muscular thighs clenched around Cas’ bound hips.

“Now this? This is really gonna be something.” Dean sank slowly onto Cas screamingly sensitive cock, clenching on the glide down. The sensation of his cock gripped tight, while the vibrator filled his ass, buzzing merrily away, was too much. He screamed, balls clenched as they struggled to tighten and rise, to finally grant him relief. Only to be blocked again by the damned ring. Cas gasped, clinging to his last reserves as Dean picked up the pace. 

Cas knew right then that it was over; his failure inevitable. He’d eventually succumb, sooner rather than later, and offer anything, everything if he could only be allowed orgasm. It was just a matter of time. With the realization came a rush of relief, that there was a glorious end in sight. But not quite yet. Cas may have accepted he was going to lose this battle, but he was damned well going to make Dean work for it. 

A dark, eager part of his mind reminded him that the Winchesters were all about second chances. And if at first he didn’t succeed, well, there was always next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Damn it, Misha.


End file.
